


A Kiss for the King

by keijibeam



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: And loses, Angry Pining, M/M, One-sided pining, Pining Miya Atsumu, atsumu has a staring contest with sakusa's mouth, ft one single round of the king's game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28154136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keijibeam/pseuds/keijibeam
Summary: Sakusa is enamored with his bowl of umeboshi; Atsumu is enraged by it.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 105





	A Kiss for the King

**Author's Note:**

> warning: no actual kissing takes place within this story. at least no person-to-person kissing ;)

The clamor of celebration rang throughout Onigiri Miya that evening, the purpose of the festivity being the inauguration of Atsumu’s newest puppets --- ahem, the _team’s_ newest _members,_ and two of his greatest rivals from his high school days: Hinata Shouyou and Sakusa Kiyoomi. Shouyou was a different man than the kid he went up against two years in a row at the Spring InterHigh. That same overexcited boy still lived within, but on the outside had become someone more reliable, about a thousand times better at volleyball, and tanner. Not much about Sakusa had changed, other than the brand of pomade he used.

...Well, _some_ things had changed. He’d grown taller, broader, his spike had gotten even nastier. Now that spike belonged to Atsumu. Now he got to revel in its wickedness rather than admire it from afar, or fear it. He spared a thought for their future opponents who would have to face that spike in the future and pitied them. As he imagined their reactions to the unnatural flick of Sakusa’s wrists that gave his spikes that perverse spin, a smirk spread across his face.

“Gross.”

The voice that insulted him came from the man himself. On the opposite side of the table and two seats over, Sakusa stared at him.

“ _What?_ ” Atsumu sneered.

The frown Sakusa wore etched deeper into his forehead. “Your face.”

Beside him, Shouyou craned his neck to get a better look. “Is there something wrong with your face, Atsumu-san?” He turned to Sakusa. “What’s wrong with it?”

Sakusa’s expression twisted into a grimace before he looked down to the table and plucked a single umeboshi out of a bowl, placed it on top of the onigiri in front of him, then turned away from them to take a bite.

“My face is flawless.” Atsumu patted his cheeks, pointing out the perfect curve of his cheekbones.

“Okay!” Shouyou beamed at him. “But apparently not to Sakusa-san?”

Then Atsumu took his turn to grimace. He had no time to defend himself as Inunaki leaned across the table, holding out a fistful of chopsticks.

“Your turn, Atsumu!”

He drew one, praying to every god he could remember the name of that his would say _king_. It didn't. He rolled his eyes at the obnoxious number three drawn crudely on the chopstick.

From the other end of the table, a vigorous laugh erupted. “Ahahah! Hey hey! I’m the king!” Bokuto swung his chopstick-wielding fist through the air.

If _he_ became the king, Atsumu would make sure and pick Sakusa’s number. He didn’t know how he would know which number Sakusa had drawn, but surely, the fates would guide him. And he would make him do something really embarrassing. Maybe something gross. Across the table, Sakusa took a cloth from his pocket and dabbed at his mouth. What the hell was that about? Perfectly good paper napkins sat in the center of the table and he pulled out a hanky?

He neatly folded the handkerchief and put it back into the pocket of his fresh MSBY jacket. Maybe, Atsumu thought, he would refrain from a gross demand. He didn’t _really_ want to set Sakusa off. But he definitely had to think of something good. Something that would cause Sakusa emotional turmoil. Something Sakusa would remember.

“My first command,” Bokuto began, “is for...number five!”

Immediately after putting the cloth away, Sakusa picked up another plum with his _bare fingers_. His delicate habits compelled him to use his own special cloth to wipe his mouth with but he could pick umeboshi up, straight out of the brine, with his fingers alone? Who ordered a side of pickled plums, juice and all, anyway? Sakusa bit into it and plum innards dripped onto his lip, the juice trailing down his chin. With his fancy pocket cloth too far away; he had to grab a napkin to collect the mess before it spilled any further. Ha! That showed him for acting so proper. And hypocritical.

He could make Sakusa drink a cup of brine. A task that gross would satisfy Atsumu without making Sakusa really mad -- though a _really_ mad Sakusa would be an entertaining enough sight that it might be worth it. On the other hand, Sakusa was going in for another plum, so maybe he wouldn’t be that disturbed by it. His penalty needed to be awkward and uncomfortable, not mildly unpleasant -- or, god forbid, _nearly_ _enjoyable_.

“I’ve decided!” Bokuto declared. “Number five has to…”

Sakusa’s fingers were covered in brine and plum guts. To Atsumu’s surprise, he went straight in with his tongue, having no shame at licking his fingers in public. He remembered something then -- something he’d read in volleyball monthly, or maybe something Sakusa or a teammate of his had let slip during one of their high school run-ins; something about Sakusa having affection for few things in life, one of those things being umeboshi.

“...Walk on their hands back to the dorms!”

When regular young adults their age played the king’s game during a night out, the orders were always straightforward. Two has to give the king a foot rub. Number eight should hug whoever they think is hottest. Three has to buy the next round, and six should go buy me a snack from the convenience store. Ideally, you would be the king amongst a group of only your cutest peers, so no matter who gave you the foot rub, you weren’t disappointed.

Sakusa wasn’t cute, but Atsumu felt no doubt that he would be mortified if forced to rub his feet. He could make him do something simpler, like buy them another round of onigiri, or beer from the convenience store down the street. But those were _too_ simple.

Captain Meian lightly punched Bokuto on the arm. “Do you know how far that is from here? Be reasonable.”

That fancy little cloth protruded from Sakusa’s bony, monstrous fingers and pressed against the corner of his mouth. Brine still coated his lips. How could he keep missing all that juice left on his face? Maybe he left it there intentionally, specifically to annoy Atsumu. Could plum brine act as a moisturizer? Maybe the key to how soft Sakusa’s lips always looked had been plum brine all along.

At the same time as Meian finished speaking, Shouyou sprang from his seat, waving his chopstick up and down. “That’s me! Bokuto-san, that’s my number!”

Once he considered all of the fine details of Sakusa Kiyoomi, he realized, maybe more had changed since high school than he first noticed. For starters, the lines of Sakusa’s form had solidified, leaving him with a sharper frame and firmer muscles; yet pieces of him had softened, too. His hair, for one, despite the increase in styling time and product use, looked feather-soft compared to the crisp curls he'd donned in high school. His puckered lips appeared smooth beneath all the plum juice, soft and plump as well. He must do a lot of work to maintain them beneath that mask. Thank god for plum brine. 

Shouyou stood at the door, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he zipped up his jacket. Bokuto stood beside him and clapped him on the shoulder. “You got this, Hinata!”

As far as king’s game commands went, Bokuto always gave original commands, to say the least. Innovation didn’t matter in this game. The classics were classic for a reason. As far as _classic_ king’s game commands went, there wasn’t a move more played than telling a numbered participant to give the king a kiss. With all that lip care, shouldn’t the softness of Sakusa’s lips be appreciated? Shouldn’t it be put to better use than sucking umeboshi juice off of his bony fingers?

From the entrance, Bokuto watched longingly. Shouyou was already halfway down the street.

...Wait, what? A kiss? From Sakusa? Where’d that come from?

Bokuto cried out, “I can’t let Hinata win!” and was on his hands and out the door before anyone on the team could react.

Kissing Atsumu wouldn’t be a punishment anyway! That would be a gift! A delight! Sakusa would be lucky to kiss him! He needed to stop thinking about Sakusa kissing him!

“Not again,” Meian sighed.

Atsumu stared hard at Sakusa’s stupid lips -- which he decided were at fault for his recent train of thought. If Sakusa wiped his mouth properly, he never would’ve had the idea -- the notion never would have crossed his mind -- he never would have had one single thought about how pliable, how smooth, how downright doughy those stupid lips looked. If they _looked_ that soft, what would they feel like? Would it be like kissing a pillow? Not that Atsumu knew what that felt like. Not that he had ever done that. Not that he had ever imagined Sakusa’s face in his pillow on a particularly sleepless night in his third year of high school.

He’d been staring for too long. Sakusa’s lips moved again, but they pulled down in a frown. “Gross,” they uttered, and Atsumu realized Sakusa was looking right at him.

“ _Now what?!_ ” Atsumu snarled, as much out of frustration towards himself as anger at the cushy-lipped bastard in front of him.

“You were staring…you’ve had that habit since high school.”

“You’ve had that attitude since high school!”

“So?”

“So!” He dipped a paper napkin in his glass of water and lunged across the table to smear it across Sakusa’s mouth. “So, clean your face properly!” The look of pure disgust and animosity carved into Sakusa’s expression left him reveling.

Despite the look of utter contempt in his eyes, Sakusa didn’t move or even flinch as Atsumu’s hand moved lower to wipe his chin. With Sakusa’s lips back in view, the task of cleaning his face felt far too dangerous. Atsumu threw the wadded up napkin down and ignored the scowl pointed at him as he gathered the discarded sticks from his teammates.

“Your turn, Omi-kun.” He held the sticks out, only after committing to memory the order in which he held them. “Go on, pick.”

“I’m not playing.”

“It’s a bonding activity! Pick one!”

Sakusa lifted his handkerchief and pressed it to the damp spot Atsumu had left on his chin. “It’s a juvenile attempt at flirtation, not bonding.” He folded the cloth and set it on the table. “It’s. _Gross._ ”

“‘ _It's gross_ ,’” Atsumu repeated in a high-pitched tone. He turned to the rest of his team. “One of you, then. The night’s still young, c’mon!”

“I don’t think so, Atsumu.” Meian stood from the table and the rest of the team slowly followed. “We better go after Bokuto and Hinata.”

“They can take care of themselves,” Atsumu said, but he threw the chopsticks down on an empty plate and grabbed his jacket anyway. Before he could stand, a hand pressed into his shoulder and held him in place.

“You weren’t thinkin’ of leaving before your tab was settled, were ya?” Behind him stood his far less handsome and successful twin.

Atsumu narrowed his eyes up at Osamu. “What about the family discount?”

“That only applies to family I like.”

“Since when?!” Atsumu turned to Meian and the others. “Hey, we’re splitting this, right?”

Meian tilted his head and smiled. “I thought it was your treat. They’re _your_ wing spikers, right?”

“I look forward to being in your care, Miya,” Sakusa’s lip curved barely a fraction of a millimeter, but it was a _smirk_. And nothing had ever made Atsumu more furious.

“Gross,” he hissed at Sakusa, whose smirk grew another quarter of a millimeter before he stood to leave.

Once all of their backs were turned, Atsumu pointed both of his middle fingers in the air. He kept his hands up, waving them wildly as he stood. As he grabbed the last onigiri from the table, his eye caught something else that had been left behind. A solid white square of cloth, folded neatly on the table.

Without thinking, he snatched it and shoved it into his pocket before following Osamu to the counter. What a forgetful and pretentious little shit. How could he leave behind something he spent so much time fussing over? Atsumu pressed his fingertips into the smooth fabric, squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger and felt a single grain of rice trapped between the folds. _Gross._

“Come on, Samu.” Atsumu leaned over the counter as he haggled for a discount from his twin. “Ya didn’t really mean that stuff about not givin’ me a discount, right? After all the games you sold at? What do I gotta do to convince ya to shave a li’l off the price?”

Osamu lifted his hat, scratched at his head. “I suppose there is one thing.” He placed the cap back on his head and smiled at his brother. “Tell me you don't plan on stealing an _indirect kiss_ with that handkerchief once you get back to your room, and I’ll give ya the whole meal free.”

His jaw dropped, and he snapped it shut and pointed his finger at Osamu, who only grinned at him. Then he pulled out his wallet and slapped the price in full against the counter. “I wish I’d eaten you in the womb.”

“The way you were starin’ at Sakusa, bet that’s not the only meal you wish ya could have.” With that grin still plastered across his face, he handed Atsumu his change. Osamu waved as he turned to leave.

“Grandma never loved you,” Atsumu called over his shoulder as he stomped through the curtain and out the door.

“Sakusa will never love you either!” Osamu shouted back, but Atsumu chose not to hear it.

He could see the rest of the team up the street, Sakusa only a little ways behind them, his arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders to shield himself from the slight breeze of the evening.

“Omi-kun!”

Sakusa turned and squinted at him. He didn’t have to say it; even with half his face hidden by a mask, his expression made it clear: _gross._

Maybe he was gross. Hell, if that was his taste, he must be the nastiest guy in the whole world. But the second nastiest guy stood a little ways up the street, staring at him, stopped as if _waiting_ for him, so he squeezed the cloth in his pocket and sprinted forward.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading i love sakusa and i think atsumu is a big dumb gay loser!
> 
> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/boomairspike) or [tumblr](https://boomairspike.tumblr.com/) if you wanna :)


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